


Wield It For Me

by Geneat



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Danger Kink, M/M, Object Insertion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27074194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geneat/pseuds/Geneat
Summary: For a kink meme fill: 'Geralt fucks Jaskier with the hilt of his sword'"You do like this," Geralt drawled, dragging the tip of his silver sword along the soft flesh of Jaskier's inner thigh."Did you think I was lying? Just weaving a tale to humiliate myself in-" Jaskier cut off abruptly as the point dug in, threatening to break skin."I only thought you were confused. Adrenaline can do many things to a man, not the least that." He looked pointedly at Jaskier's cock, livid red and hard enough that it was starting to weep lightly against his belly. Jaskier flushed pink across his cheeks and didn't respond. There was nothing he could really say.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 329





	Wield It For Me

"You _do_ like this," Geralt drawled, dragging the tip of his silver sword along the soft flesh of Jaskier's inner thigh.

"Did you think I was lying? Just weaving a tale to humiliate myself in-" Jaskier cut off abruptly as the point dug in, threatening to break skin.

"I only thought you were confused. Adrenaline can do many things to a man, not the least _that."_ He looked pointedly at Jaskier's cock, livid red and hard enough that it was starting to weep lightly against his belly. Jaskier flushed pink across his cheeks and didn't respond. There was nothing he could really say.

The whole mess was an embarrassment, one that he had never intended to share with anyone, let alone Geralt. But Jaskier hadn't really understood it until traveling together for some time. He had thought much the same as Geralt for a long while. There was nothing strange about a young man getting... excited during fencing matches or the heat of a brawl. It was a simple bodily reaction.

But Jaskier knew better now. And he'd thought they had laid the matter to rest 3 weeks ago, when Geralt had turned around and caught him with his hands down his pants immediately after slaying a graveir, both of them still covered in the splash of oozing ichor. Geralt's gaze had dropped for a brief moment before he turned away from the bard, yanking his blade out of the beast and disappearing into a copse of trees around the nearest stream, leaving Jaskier to finish himself off with his hand. The witcher had not brought it up once, not even with another hunt on the horizon. Geralt didn't want to know.

Jaskier didn't want to know, either. It put far too many things into perspective, and Jaskier was not about that kind of introspection. It was too startling to realize that all it took was the threat of violence to leave him gasping with desire. If Jaskier had to rethink all his married trysts, wondering if the looming peril of an angry husband coming to murder him was the sole reason for his interest, he would dive into an existential spiral even music could not pull him out of.

He was working to control himself though, trying to at least delay his reaction to a reasonable time, not in the middle of a hunt. Jaskier didn't want to be left behind when Geralt grew exasperated with his lack of self-control and decided the bard was no longer welcome. But it was so difficult. Jaskier could barely resist creeping closer for a better view, heart pounding as he watched Geralt's sword flash and twirl, the raw power of the witcher on display right there. Even knowing the endrega queen could spit acid far enough to reach his new hiding place. Even knowing that Geralt would be fucking furious if Jaskier tumbled into trouble. No one could have resisted, not when it was Geralt.

But not everyone would be hard as steel just from watching. If Jaskier had just stayed where he was told, if he hadn't been close enough to take the spurt of acid that forced him to rip away his melting clothing, they both might have been able to ignore the entire debacle. Jaskier wouldn't have learned his lesson, but they wouldn't have needed to talk about his little... kink.

Instead, Geralt loomed over him, the tip of his sword digging into Jaskier's spread thighs as he babbled away all his deepest secret desires.

"Is this always what you want? Why your trysts are so..." He didn't finish the sentence, but Jaskier knew what he was implying. His partnerships were always indulgent, and he could understand why Geralt might think Jaskier was looking to get a specific itch scratched. It was a kinder interpretation than pure hedonism, consider how often his trysts had consequences following after them.

"Not, not like this. Not like with you. You make me so _reckless_ , I can't even stop to think-"

"I have noticed," Geralt said flatly. The memories of all Jaskier's stupid mistakes seemed to darken his vision. Jaskier gasped as the blade rotated against his skin, twisting on its point.

"I don't mean to be trouble, really I don't, but you have to know the effect you have on people. With- with your shining hair and your flashing sword, moving like you were born _to dance_ , not fight. I want the danger, but more than anything I want _you._ "

"And my sword."

"The sword is, um, nice, too. But you could retire to be a sheep herder, and I'd still..." Jaskier gestured helplessly. He was a composer. He was a bard! Finding the words shouldn't be so fucking difficult, but now that he had spilled the shameful part, the words just seemed to dry up in his throat. "It's never been the only thing I want. Danger is just a mindset. And not one I often indulge. Consciously, at least." He finished with a flush. He wouldn't pretend that certain memories weren't shaded a little differently now that he understood himself better. Maybe he had bedded that Redanian prince back in Oxenfurt solely because his bodyguard was known to be incredibly tetchy.

But that had no bearing now. "If- if you want, we can forget all this. There's no need- If you wouldn't enjoy- You ignored it when it happened with the graveir, we can do that again, can't we?"

"No."

"No?"

Geralt dropped the sword into the grass, crouching down between Jaskier's legs, his leather boots creaking. "No. Do you know how many times I've stroked myself, think about that afternoon? Thinking of you, with your laces undone, your mouth hanging open, dripping with blood as you gasped out your pleasure?"

Jaskier froze. Oh, that was... that was... A full body shiver rattled down his spine at those words, pinned in place by Geralt's hot gaze. "Really?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, Jaskier." He smoothed both his hands down Jaskier's creamy thighs, over the faint red scratches left by the silver sword. "I thought it was the monsters that got you so flustered. Explained why you always pushed to join me on hunts, right from the beginning."

" _Never!_ Geralt, you have to kno-" Jaskier broke off into a gasp. The witcher skimmed his thumb over Jaskier's hole, his rim fluttering at the feeling.

"Shut up, Jaskier. I know it now. Your desires are very _human_." The way he said it made Jaskier feel like a meal, one that Geralt had full intentions of devouring. He licked his lips nervously. Geralt looked over his body, assessing, and Jaskier knew he was not found wanting.

His thumb probed between Jaskier's cheeks again. "You're already wet. Is this what you did when I told you to prepare for a hunt? Did you plan on losing control, filling yourself with your fingers out here in the woods?"

"N-no, I just thought, ah-" Jaskier wiggled, "If I was... satisfied I might be able to control myself."

Geralt smirked at that. "How wrong you were," he murmured, pushing his thumb more firmly against Jaskier's hole, sliding easily inside with the layer of slick. Jaskier moaned deep in his throat. God's above, he couldn't believe this was what had finally gotten Geralt's attention. The witcher pushed both his thumbs inside, spreading Jaskier easily. His fingers were so hot inside him, at an angle Jaskier could never achieve himself.

Suddenly Geralt pulled his fingers away and tugged at his armor, peeling off his shoulder guards and then working at them briskly. Soon he had two thick leather straps free in his hand. The witcher loomed over Jaskier, his rough pants rubbing against Jaskier's soft skins as he held both Jaskier's hands together and tied them with one strap, finishing with a neat knot. Then he leaned back and pushed Jaskier's legs together, doing the same to his ankles.

Jaskier's heart wanted to beat out of his chest, bound before his witcher, his cock so hard it could have been used as a sword all by itself. It didn't feel like Geralt was playing, like he knew Jaskier's game and was following the rules. No, it felt like anything could happen. That was exactly what Jaskier wanted.

The witcher stood, looking down at Jaskier's splayed body with greedy eyes. Geralt reached for his silver sword, dragging it out of the damp grass beside Jaskier to wipe it against his muddy pants, until the blade gleamed again. Then he stepped away.

"Where are you going?" Jaskier called. He struggled to sit up, his bound hands squeezed awkwardly in front of his chest.

"Silver is for monsters," he replied simply, and Jaskier's mouth went dry. "Don't worry, I'll be back before the necrophages sniff you out."

Jaskier couldn't suppress the twitch of his cock, imagining just for an instant how it would feel to be helpless and restrained, waiting for Geralt to rescue him from such a beast. Geralt knew exactly the effect of his words, raising one eyebrow as he waited for Jaskier to protest. But all Jaskier did was flop down onto his back. There was no use in arguing things they both knew were untrue, not when Geralt really was being so understanding. Jaskier had been so afraid that Geralt would be disgusted to find out. That he might stop believing in Jaskier's genuine affections and assume all his decisions were predicated on base desires.

Instead, Geralt _wanted_ , hungry just the way Jaskier was. If Jaskier had known all it would take was a smidge of embarrassment, he might have revealed his little problem a lot sooner, instead of flirting fruitlessly with the witcher for months. Rather than provoking mischief when he fell into bed with someone else, inevitably getting them both run out of town, maybe they could have experienced the same excitement together.

Leaves crunched around his head and Jaskier whipped his chin around, adrenaline spiking in his veins, fearful that there really was a necrophage coming to munch on him. But it was only Geralt, carrying his steel sword in one hand and a vial of oil in the other. Jaskier swallowed roughly. Seeing the heavy sword in his hand made it all much more real, intense in a way he had never experienced before. The witcher had barely touched him and he already felt like he was wavering right on the edge.

Geralt knelt down by his ankles, adjusting the strap there with simple efficient tugs. "Up," he commanded, smacking at Jaskier's bare thighs with one hand. The bard lifted his legs, curling them into his chest until his cock pressed against his stomach. It left a thick smear of pre there, glistening and wet.

Jaskier glanced down at the sword laying by his side. In his own mind, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he was relieved that was the sword Geralt had chosen. Jaskier wanted it desperately enough that he would have taken either one, but the steel carried the heavier pommel, bulbous and twice as thick as the rest of the hilt. It would fill him so much, the anticipation made him giddy. Plus the silver sword had such an ornate carved wolf on the end, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to bear its intrusion, no matter how much he might have tried to relax himself.

Geralt drizzled the oil over the hilt of the sword until it was dripping, rivulets splashing unto the dirt beneath him.

"Do you think your fun this morning was enough to take it just like this?" Geralt asked, his voice pitched low. Jaskier opened his mouth, but all that came out was a sharp moan. He nodded rapidly, eyes locked on the heavyset hilt, eager to try as his breathing devolved into desperate little pants.

The witcher pushed his hand into the back of Jaskier's knees, stretching him further as he lined up the hilt with his other hand. His fingers glistened with the oil, but his grip was sure. Jaskier felt a flutter when the pommel ground against him, biting his lip to keep from crying out immediately. He didn't want Geralt to change his mind and start with his fingers. Jaskier didn't think he would last long enough, not while already feeling like he was dangling over the edge.

His teeth nearly drew blood as Geralt pressed relentlessly forward. The pommel was so much all at once that for a moment all Jaskier could feel was the harshness of the burn, his legs starting to tremble. But he knew he could take it, welcomed the hint of pain as a promise for the pleasure to come. It stretched him like nothing else Jaskier had taken before. Geralt handled his sword just as professionally as he always did, angling it just right to push past any lingering resistance from Jaskier's body, until the wide round pommel was seated all the way inside him.

"Good?"

It was... fuck, where were the words? He squeezed his legs tighter to his chest as they trembled, knowing that if he relaxed for even an instant, he would slice himself on the blade. That made his cock drag across his belly, sending sparks through his veins. The danger of the sword now splitting him made the feeling hit twice as hard.

"Jaskier?"

"Good! I'm good, promise! _More_ , please, I-" Jaskier cut off with a howl. At his begging, Geralt shoved the sword the rest of the way inside in one smooth motion. Jaskier's back arched off the ground, his vision whiting out as he took it all. He nearly came right there. It was so deep inside him he swore he could taste steel in the back of his throat.

Geralt waited patiently for Jaskier to relax again, watching intently as the blade of the sword jerked, moved by his body clenching rhythmically around the hilt. Jaskier could feel the cool steel of the guard nestled in between his cheeks, in contrast to the leather wrapped handle now deep inside him, warm from Geralt's hand. He sucked in a deep breath, his knuckles almost white where his fingers laced together.

By the time Jaskier could speak again, Geralt was already moving, sliding the sword in and out of him in powerful thrusts. The ridges of the leather dragged against his rim, catching just enough to twinge. Jaskier moaned, helpless to do anything else as Geralt's sharp movements made him skid across the ground.

The witcher adjusted his grip, slowing down for just a moment before changing the angle enough to hit that perfect spot deep inside. Jaskier saw stars, an entire universe dancing behind his eyelids as he closed his eyes. He couldn't believe just how perfect it was, Geralt hitting that spot unerringly over and over again. Like the witcher knew Jaskier's body better than he knew himself.

At any moment, Geralt could have miscalculated or fumbled, his slick hands slipping on the guard or his wrist cramping from the repetitive movement. Just an instant was all it would take to injure Jaskier, but his witcher was perfect. Geralt gave him everything he needed; the threat, the sword, and the inhuman fucking skill to pull it off. Inhuman skill at fucking, actually. Jaskier's laugh caught in his throat as Geralt rolled his wrist, the hilt dragging against his walls. God's above, he was going to combust before he came, from the intensity of it all.

It was building in his belly, his cock twitching across his skin, smearing slick everywhere. Jaskier reached down, bending his elbows awkwardly to try to grip his length between his bound palms. Geralt snarled at him, slamming the sword into him hard enough to knock the breath out of the bard, making his point without a single word.

That was all Jaskier needed. He keened, his legs jerking in the air as he came. It made his head spin, disorienting and euphoric at the same time, everything crashing down around him. There could have been a drowner gnawing at his feet and Jaskier wouldn't have noticed. Pleasure was what mattered. His balls tightened as thick white spurts painted his stomach. Jaskier's mouth hung open as he panted, his hair stuck to his forehead with the slick of his sweat.

Geralt worked the sword free carefully. Jaskier moaned, exhausted, as the wide pommel tugged at his rim, flopping to the side when it was safe to do so. The witcher's hands were sure as he freed Jaskier, not a hint of the greedy desire that had started the entire mess. When his hands were unbound, he reached for Geralt's hips, trying to tug aside the heavy leather that hung down to protect his thighs.

Catching his hand, Geralt pushed him back, preventing Jaskier from touching him. Jaskier whined in the back of his throat. That couldn't be right.

"But don't you want-"

"No."

Jaskier felt a flash of fear in the back of his mind at the harsh rebuke. Had Geralt not enjoyed himself? Had Jaskier not lived up to expectations, disappointment wiping away the cravings the witcher felt before? "Sorry," he muttered and pulled back his hand, "Sorry, I won't..." His nakedness suddenly felt vulgar and ridiculous, the chill of the damp forest getting to him.

Geralt rolled his eyes, not releasing Jaskier's hand. "You're an idiot," he said gruffly. But there was a dusting of pink across his cheeks and he tugged Jaskier back, pulling the bard's hand firmly to his crotch. Always with the petty back and forth, his witcher. Jaskier let the annoyance buoy him. If Geralt didn't want to be touched, it wasn't a problem. The only problem was the way...

Oh.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt with wide eyes, registering a real blush across the witcher's face for the first time. Geralt _had_ enjoyed himself. Immensely. The wet spot beneath his palm was unmistakable. Jaskier hadn't come untouched since he was a randy teenager, more hormones than blood running through his veins. And now Jaskier had- had _provoked_ it, in his eternally tight-laced witcher, just by giving in to his own desires. It was intoxicating.

"Well," he said, trying not to let a grin break across his face. "Now I know to _start_ with the cocksucking."

"Oh, shut up. Or I'll let you find your own way back to the village just like that," Geralt groused.

"Really? You'll let me fall into danger and get distracted by my cock all by myself?" Jaskier couldn't help the cackle that burst from his chest as Geralt's sour look. It was like he'd bitten in to one of those terrible berries Jaskier had tried to forage up a few weeks ago. "Don't worry, witcher," he continued, eyes sparkling, "You're the only one I trust to wield a sword for me."


End file.
